The Five Stages of Grief Plus Five Years Later
by WhirledPiece17
Summary: House and Wilson had been lovers for quite a while when on an icy stormy night their lives are changed forever. House dies and Wilson is forced to take on the world alone. WARNING!: CHARACTER DEATH and ANGST! I decided to update again. Five years later.
1. The Death of My Only Hero

Chapter One: The Death of My Only Hero

_**A/N: This is going to be a sad one and that is what I intended from the beginning. Quick summary of what happened before. House and Wilson had been living together in a small apartment by the hospital. They were lovers. They loved and enjoyed each other for about five years until the day of the accident. That is what this chapter is about. Wilson tells the story so when it says "I" its Wilson. Thanks for reading this before you delve into a sad tale. Please leave a comment too! **_

I remember that day. I was at work getting ready to wrap up a hard day's work when he burst in. With that smirk and those baby blues he could make any person fall for him…at least that's what he did to me. He came in unexpectedly just as he had been doing since we became "more than friends" and sat down in the patient's chair. I looked up from the mountain of paperwork on my desk and smiled, "Hello Greg. How are you?"

He just looked down from the ceiling to look into my eyes and he said in his normal gruff tone, "I am so bored. I have to get out of here right now!" He emphasized this by jumping up and down slightly in his chair like some adolescent getting ready for the final bell to ring. I gave him a patient smile and said in a calm voice, "Its okay. Wait just a bit longer. Besides. You should be careful out there. The ice storm is getting worse," I looked out my office window to see the icy rain falling harder than before.

House, of course didn't listen, he just leaned forward to give me a quick kiss on the lips and then winked before saying, "I just want to go home. I will see you there in twenty minutes. I have a _surprise for you_!" his voice sang out at the end. I felt my face warm and he smirked to confirm my face blushing. Without a final word he limped out my door for last time…but of course I could not have known that at the time.

!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()!$

I was at the nurse's station an hour and a half later. I didn't think work would take this long. Poor Greg. Home all alone and all eager for me. I kept silently praying and hoping he heard me. _Hang in there! I am almost done! I will be home soon! _Of course it was foolish of me to think he could hear me. Or if he could hear anything.

I turned once more to the nurse behind the station and said in a jittery voice that didn't belong to me, "Is it okay if I just take off? I mean I have been here since 7 A.M. and it's..." I glanced at my wristwatch but my eye caught something else. The paramedics were bringing in a patient on a stretcher. Normally when I see the poor souls I wince and feel my heart strings being pulled in pity. But today's unlucky patient was one I would never forget.

I felt my heartstrings be removed and being plucked roughly. The man on the stretcher was my Gregory. His face was horribly mangled and the whole left side of his body was bloody and the clothes were torn. His eyes were closed and I saw the pain etched on his features. As if in slow motion I saw him being rushed into the emergency and I followed in super-speed.

They were doing all they could. I saw the determination burning in their eyes as if it were real flames. They gave him every thing they could. But those baby blues I had just seen light up and sparkle not too long ago…never opened. They didn't give up yet, but I didn't see it, my eyes were too glazed over with tears. I saw Cuddy enter in the blur of my vision and I let the tears fall onto the shiny hospital floor. And then one of them glanced at his watch before saying in a monotone voice, "Time of death…9:47 P.M." Cuddy and I just looked at each other and allowed each other to hug onto the comfort. I was numb…and he was gone.


	2. Denial

Chapter Two: Denial

_**A/N: The following chapters are letters that Wilson wrote to House. ( Well at least the first part of them will be…) It may seem sappy and a little weird but I have heard many cases of people writing letters to their deceased loved one. Enjoy, leave a comment, and remember the tissue box is always nearby. Don't forget to give Wilson a hug when you leave too…**_

Dear Greg,

I remember your funeral. It was a sad day, and your parents were there. The icy rain was lightly falling and everyone was gathered around your coffin being lowered into the ground. Everyone. Even Chase, Cameron, and Foreman showed their faces. Last time I heard from them was five years ago when you hired your new team. They were there too. Not too many words were spoken. We just huddled together under our black umbrellas and watched you being lowered into the ground.

I don't think you are gone, even a month after it's happened. I still set an extra place setting when I make your favourite meals…which are every night. You are still there with me. I hear you playing piano some mornings and others a hear you yelling from the bathroom. You are not gone. I don't believe it. The other day when I passed Cuddy in the hall I was going to ask her to come over for dinner. But then I remembered that we only had two chairs and you take up the other one. I dismissed the thought and buried myself in my work.

I have been doing that a lot lately. I am in the bad habit of telling myself that if I bury myself in my work you won't really disappear for good this time. But there is always that empty bed I have to climb into. I spend most days in a haze walking past your now empty office. I actually burst in there and sat on the empty floor waiting for you to return. Cuddy had to wake me up an hour later.

Greg. Why couldn't you have been a cancer patient? At least then I would have been able to spend another day/month/year with you.

You aren't gone. You aren't here either.

Love,

James

!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()!#$()!#$&()

I walked past his office again for the umpteenth time today. They said they were going to make it into a new doctor's office or a physical therapist's office. It wouldn't be the same seeing different people walk into that glassed-in room. I miss the connection between the room where we used to sneak and kiss before heading to lunch together. Even that section of the hospital won't be the same.

I often head up to the roof to clear my head and think. It was his place but now it is our place. I sense him here every day. Every day rain or shine I am up here. He is up here too. Sometimes we eat lunch together but lately I have been eating more and more and he has a less of an appetite everyday. I end up eating his once favourite sandwich a lot of the time.

I also go home to an empty apartment. But I know he will return to it sometime. He just has to. Without him the place has no life…no meaning…no purpose…

Tonight is yet another meal without him. Now I have no appetite.


	3. Anger

Chapter Three: Anger

Dear Greg,

It's been about a month and a half since you…well...haven't returned home. Every night I eat alone, watch TV alone, work alone, and climb into the spacious bed alone. The other night I tried to play your piano but the moment I laid my fingers on the ivory keys and attempted to play your memory washed over me as if the keys were telling me it was _your place_ and I wasn't wanted near it. I slammed my fists down onto the top of the dusty instrument and hung my head as I cried angry tears. That is where I slept that night.

I blame you for leaving me. I told you to stay at the hospital for a while until the deadly ice storm blew off but you never listen to me. Why me? The normally serious unhappy oncologist brought back to life by _you_…the carefree rebel diognostian. I am mad at everything now. Last week when I got my breakfast at the cafeteria I left my coffee up on the counter. When the cashier came over to return it to me I let my eyes sink into hers with bitterness until I realized it was her I was glaring at and not you. Why me?

Cuddy also has to drag me away from your grave on a few of my lunch breaks. I used to go up to the roof all the time but Cuddy said I should take a break from that place. So I started eating lunch next to you. The flowers have started to bloom around your grave but I don't see their vibrant colours. I just see everything with this red angry vision. Why did you have to…leave…when you did? I was just getting ready to face that life was at its fullest. Now I feel like I was the one that killed you.

I am mad and my hand is shaking. That is why I can't write anymore tonight. I see the faint outlines of dawn through our window and I think to myself here is another day to make me madder at what I did to you. Sleep your eternal sleep while I seep into madness.

Love you more with every fading heartbeat,

James

!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()!#$&

I walked into my office on that bright sunny morning and all I could do was draw the shades and sink into my chair. Before I could even start my mother-lode of paperwork Cuddy walked in. She looked concerned. She looked motherly. She looked like she wanted to talk to me. I turned my face away from her worried face and into the packet of work I saved from the night before. But she wouldn't go away.

She spoke in a tone of someone who truly cared, "James. Please take today off. You are not yourself. Your patients…although doing better than ever feel as though they lost a friend with you,"

I looked up bitterness once again involuntarily clouding my vision. I sighed and cleared my throat before saying in my voice that I had begun to not recognize, "I am fine. I am just a little…angry…but I am fine," The word angry felt disgusting on my tongue but I said it as calmly as I could.

Cuddy just would not go away. She sat down in the chair that he always liked to sit in. She leaned forward and said in a calm voice that I felt I didn't deserve to hear, "Why are you so angry, James?"

I felt my gaze soften and I sighed again before responding, "Work. Stresses. Patients. The usual," Cuddy would not take that as answer. She pressed more much to my annoyance, "Is that all you are angry about?"

I couldn't take all the poking and prodding. I exploded without any control. "Because I think that I am the one that killed Gregory and I am sick of all this guilt!" Cuddy's grey eyes widened and I saw the surprise etched all over her face. I also saw her get up and her say, "I am sorry you feel that way, James," But by the time I saw her leave I saw nothing but the anger. It's blinding me and I believe I need some outside help on this one.

_**A/N Hello after some long waiting and worrying for our poor Willy-boy. I hope that he will be okay but I assure you by 'acceptance' he will be better. How was everyone's holidays? Good I hope. Well as always have an incredible day and please leave something to say before you go. I love your feedback and I appreciate all the people who favourite my stories. **_


	4. Bargaining

Chapter Four: Bargaining

Dear Greg,

You probably know that I don't really believe in God. I _do_ believe that there is a higher being out there that decided on that fateful night a few months ago to take you from my life. But I don't believe that the same being also made us fall in love. I don't know what to do anymore. I've been to the chapel at the hospital and I have tried to ask for help with therapists and psychiatrists alike. Nothing helps. You are still…dead.

The other day, Cuddy set me up with one of the best therapists in the area, and when I went I completely clamped up. I won't open up to anything. I just wanted to rest my head on the pillow on my lap and sob, but the lady asked me how I was doing with your loss. She showed me a chart of the Five Stages of Grief. This process is confusing and yet now all my feelings are starting to come together and make sense now.

The denial that you were gone, the anger I felt, and now the wanting to trade something with "a higher being" that some people believe in. I wouldn't allow myself to look at the final two stages. I didn't want to know what other shit I am going to have to go through in the weeks to come. I smiled forcefully at the woman that made things clearer and then left the small suffocating room.

I went back to the hospital where my feet carried me to the chapel. I sulked into the room and sat in a pew. The stained-glass windows streamed in beams of multi-coloured light and I just looked up at the ceiling. I felt like I could pray right then. I really did. In fact I remember mumbling out of my frowning lips, "Please. If there is anything you can take from me to bring him back…" But that was as far as I got before the tears came over me. No God would listen to my requests…He's too busy killing other people and giving other people life.

I felt weak after that "talk" with myself. I left the chapel, left the hospital, and stood in warmth of early spring. But I was also numb so the warmth didn't feel as good as intended. I don't remember how I got home that night but I remember sleeping all night on my side of the bed.

If you are somehow getting these letters I put under your pillow…come back. Please before I try the "God's Therapy" again.

Love you so much more and need you more with every second you're gone,

James

In my office, I have never felt so much more alone. I wondered what that surprise you had for me was that night. The image of your body entering the hospital that night still shakes my very soul. I feel as though my heart was a rose and your love and attention was the water that kept me alive. Well…it's been almost three months and my rose has dried up and it's starting to shed too many petals.

I had arranged another meeting with a therapist but this time I am going to my old one. The one that helped me through my latest divorce. She did seem to help me the most even if she did prescribe me with the Prozac. I looked at my watch, and then turned off my office light as I left the room. I promised myself not to clamp up this time. It never got me anywhere anyway.

I got to her office right on time. She greeted me from the doorway and gave me a hug of support. I only looked at her with sad eyes and sat on her couch that had become my prison cell through all the other sessions. She sat in her leather chair and pulled out an empty notebook and tied her red hair up in a bun; before saying in her normal happy voice, "So…how have you been lately James? You sounded a bit sad on the phone this morning…"

I looked up into her green eyes and said in a dead tone, "Someone I loved has died," She nodded with a sad expression and wrote that down before replying, "Oh dear. It wasn't your dog, Hector, was it?" I felt like I was going to roll my eyes but I stopped myself before I could, "No. My lover is dead." She also took that down on her notebook and asked with questions written all over her face. "You re-married?"

I gripped onto the pillow on my lap, sighed and looked down. "No. My lover. I…I was living with someone for a few years, and just this past January…he died." The room suddenly got small. I just realized that I just came out and told the woman who helped me through divorces with _women_ that I like_ men_ now. I expected her to ask more questions but instead she clamped up for a moment.

I heard the sound of a pen scratching onto a piece of paper, and then the low melody of her voice, "How did he die?" I braved a look up into her eyes and saw that she was smiling slightly with a bit of pity shining in her eyes. I knew I could trust her. More than I could trust any "God".

_**A/N: I have been having trouble writing this story. I mean I like how I set everything up and it seems to fit into Wilson's character. I just feel like I get a bit side-tracked with this story. I am almost done with it…so I guess that's a good thing. What do you think though? Is Wilson "Wilson" enough? Thanks for your continued patronage though. I am doing a lot better now that my computer is finally fixed.**_


	5. Depression

Chapter Five: Depression

Dear Greg,

Your parents called me this morning. I was lying in bed debating if I should even bother getting up and going to work when the phone rang in the kitchen. It's been so long since I've heard the phone ring in our apartment, aside from concerned calls from Cuddy and such, so I got up and ran to answer it right away. It was your mother and she sounded very concerned…your father refused to talk to me…the lover of his only son.

Your mom wanted to arrange a lunch for us to sit and talk. I hesitantly agreed…not really in the mood to sit and talk about you leaving with anyone…besides Dr. Cheryl. Your mother persisted and I agreed to a late lunch that afternoon at the local pizzeria down the street from our apartment. I hung up with a heavy heart after we finished discussing the details, and sat on the bed once more cradling the cordless phone in my shaking hands. I couldn't believe that you've been gone for four months now. The time drips on like sand from an hourglass. If only I could flip it around and stop your death in the first place.

After going to work for a few hours I left for the lunch, half-expecting your mother not to be there. But walking in I saw her…and your father…sitting in at a four person table in the center of the restaurant. They hadn't been there for long, for their glasses were still half-full. If only I could say mine was the same.

I sat down across from them and shook their hands, your mother's warm and firm, and your father's cold and weak. Before I could ask how they were, the cheery blond waitress came over to ask what I wanted to drink. I stuck with the water that was on the table already and smiled. She left leaving your parents and me to begin talking. Our conversation went something like this:

Blythe: Hello James. How are you on this warm afternoon?

Me: I-I don't feel too warm to be honest. (small chuckle)

Blythe: It's still hard for you isn't it?

Me: Yes. Yes it is. (sighs and looks into her eyes)

Blythe: Well. That's what we wanted to talk to you about. Greg was ours too so we know how you feel. We also wanted to tell you that we are here for you. I hope you know that.

John: (looking at me as if studying me and grunts)

Me: Thank you Mrs. House. I appreciate it. (smiles) I am actually seeing a therapist right now. She helped me through my divorces and now she is helping me through this too.

Blythe: That's splendid. Yes, we considered seeing one ourselves, but we are coping through his loss with each other for support. Do you have anyone at the hospital that can help you through it?…Besides your therapist I mean.

Me: I do have my boss, Dr. Lisa Cuddy, and she has always been there for me. I-I just need time on my own to sort things through.

John: (sips his iced tea, still watching me)

Blythe: We understand completely, dear. Loosing someone dear to your heart is a personal process as well as a togetherness one.

Me: (nods and smiles again, this time a bit stronger)

John: (finally clears his throat and speaks up) How long were you living with my son?

Me: (surprised) Um…going on six years actually.

John: Would you say you _loved_ my son?

Blythe: Jonathan! You promised you wouldn't talk about that---

Me: (answers and smiles patiently at your mom) Yes. Yes. I did love your son.

John: (sips his iced tea as if to remove a bad taste from his mouth) Men can't _love _each other. That's disgusting.

Me: (about to speak up) I-I-I----

Blythe: (stands up) John. Let us discuss this privately. (small apologetic nod at me)

John: (grunts again) I am entitled to my opinion, Blythe. He deserves to know how I feel.

Blythe: Jonathan!

John: (sighs and gets up, living the main eating area with your mom)

Oh Greg, if I had realized how much this would've affected your already strained relationship with your parents, I would have stayed home for lunch and not gone at all. After they talked they returned to the table and the subject was never brought up again. We discussed other things, and the conversation felt empty. But as long as your dad didn't call _us _disgusting again…I was fine with anything we talked about.

I go to Dr. Cheryl every Wednesday night, and I have to admit that it is helping a lot. Sure, I still wake up in the morning with a sad heart and a glance at your side of the bed. You still haven't returned to me yet.

Some days the Prozac doesn't work. I wake up, take the pills with my breakfast, and by the time I get to work, I don't feel any better. I just stare at the ceiling of my office and let the tears fall. Sometimes I get phone calls from Cuddy's office during these sad times. We talk, she promises me everything will work out, and asks if I need anything. I try to strengthen the sound of my voice with an image of your smiling face and reply, "I'm fine. Thanks though," She hardly never ever believes me and ends up walking into my office to give me a hug a few short minutes later.

You would be proud of both your teams too. They frequently come to visit and talk to me in my office for hours at a time. Also, the other day I found a fruit basket and a teddy bear on my desk with a simple card signed "The Ducklings Part One and Two". I smiled and remembered all the good and bad times we both had with your teams. They were good to you…whether you admit to that or not.

Love you Greg,

James

_**A/N: What do you think? Yeah I know it's been a while…I am sorry. I am going through a lot right now with my life and writing angst is not what the doctor ordered. I much rather write happy love stories so my other House/Wilson story has been updated more than this one. Either way…I hope you liked it. Please rate and review and have a great day. Thanks for reading! **_


	6. Acceptance

Chapter Six: Acceptance

Chapter Six: Acceptance

Dear Greg,

It's been half a year since that frigid unforgiving ice storm. The weather is warmer now. You would like it a lot knowing you and your tenancies to go outside and ditch work when the sun shines. Your favourite path to ride your motorcycle was recently

redone so it now allows four motorcycles to drive on it at once. I will always remember those days when you couldn't stand to be alone on your bike rides so you would pick me up from my office and whisk me away. The sun doesn't shine without you, Greg.

Work is getting better and I am leaving the office more. About every three nights or so I go out to dinner with Cuddy, or some other member of the staff, including large group dinners with your teams. They all miss you, but not as I miss you. The conversations are friendly and more often then not the food is superb, but I always try to order what I think you would want to eat. You are part of my past, my present, and my future even if you longer breathe beside me in the bed every night.

I will never love another and I decided that after the five month anniversary of your death. In my mind it's the only proper thing to do to fully honor your memory. I have my friends and I've had offers but no one will take your place in my heart.

Do not worry for me Greg, the crying is not as often as it was. I cry only when the thought of you becomes unbearable and even that is becoming less common with every week that goes by.

I have to do something now. Dr. Cheryl told me one way to fully accept a loved ones death is find something that belongs to that person and hold it as long as needed. I am going to sort through your T-shirt drawer because that is what made you my Greg. I still have all your canes in our hallway closet, taking them out every now and again; but they will not do the job. I need your essence and I just hope your shirts will help me.

I love you with every sun ray that streams into my vision,

James

I stand up from my writing desk in the corner of our room. The last visible sunset rays fall delicately onto the bed, shining with oranges, reds, and yellows. The bed is laden with colourful light and for a moment it beckons me to climb in and turn in for the night. I turn away from it; an important mission at hand.

I walk slowly and carefully to the dresser that I shared with him for five almost six years. I have the top three rows and he had the bottom three. I knew exactly where his T-shirts were because he would always use his cane to pull the handle of the fifth drawer and pick out his daily shirt. I bend down to kneel in front of the ancient oak dresser and brace myself before opening the T-shirt compartment. They were all still there…except for the one he wore the day he died. Neatly folded and arranged by colour and by year he got them.

I reach down and pull the top one off, a black Rolling Stones T-shirt he probably got in high school, and I drape it delicately in my hands. It's just as soft as I remember. It's just as warm as I remember, even if that part was just part of my imagination. I took a deep breath and lifted it to my nose hoping to catch a slight whiff of his musky cologne; but was disappointed to only pick up the smell of dust.

I fold it up again and replace it in the drawer, slightly sad that my "mission" didn't go as planned. Before I close the drawer something caught my eye at the bottom of the drawer. It wasn't T-shirt shaped or even clothes shaped. Reaching down to pick it up to examine it my hand graze a velvet square and something dry and fragile.

Now I am interested. I reach down deeper this time grasping the mysterious objects. I pull them out slowly as if frightened what they could be. My eyes instantly mist with tears. They are a rose; obviously wilted with time and a dusty ring box. I wipe my tears away and open the box carefully and I see a golden engagement ring fitted for a man and a small note scribbled in my Gregory's own hand.

_Happy Six Year Anniversary! I gave it a lot of thought and I knew deep down that you would always love me. I am taking the next step and hoping you will accept this as a proposal to be my "husband" / life partner. I love you James Wilson. I love you and hope you'll take me as yours forever. _

_Greg_

The tears fell free now; more free than they've fallen since he died. The "big surprise" he had planned the night he died…he was going to propose to me. The shock of his step towards commitment and the anguish of never being able to accept it made me sob like a baby. My tears soaked the ring box, the red rose that didn't need water because it had already died, and my shirt. But they weren't sad tears after a while. No. They were the tears of acceptance.

_**And it's the grand finale. What did you think? Seriously please be honest. I know I haven't written in this story for a good long while but here it is. The final step of the five stages of grief. Please tell me what you thought of it. I found out not too long ago that New Jersey (where "House MD" takes place) legalized same-sex marriages so I had to put it in here. That chapter took a lot out of me and please tell me if you think I should put in an epilogue or not. Your comments are always appreciated. **_


	7. Hey There

Chapter Seven: Hey There

Dear Greg,

I know I usually write to you in a journal and not a letter form, as I have been doing for the five years since your death, but something incredible happened today. I just had to tell someone, and since everyone else at work has moved on from your death, I thought you would find it as interesting as I did.

So today, I went to the graveyard where you are buried. Your gravestone as always reads, "Gregory Jonathan House: An inspiration to the child in all of us". I laid the roses down on your grave, and put my hands back in my suit pant pockets. Taking a deep breath, closing my eyes, and feeling the crisp wind blow through my hair, I felt you near me. It was calming after losing two patients in a week and a half. But you already know all about that.

What I didn't expect you to know was when I opened my eyes, I saw a largish, four-legged, brown animal about twenty feet away. I instantly clenched up. As much as I love the animal kingdom, I get afraid when I am not expecting a visitor from it. The creature crept closer and closer, and I noticed it limped on its right back leg, and it was a domestic dog. The nearer it got, the more the features became recognizable.

I love leaving you in suspense…it's only fair after all the years of teasing you did for me. I saw it hobble its way towards us until it was right next to your vine covered gravestone. It was a Husky with slicing blue eyes, and light brown fur. It had a hint of gray on its snout, and it looked like it was squinting at me. I bent down, let it sniff my hand, and noticed it was a _he_. "Hey there. I won't hurt you, but I don't have any food for you either."

The dog was in pretty good shape, aside from the limping leg, and it didn't have an identification collar. When I looked into his eyes for a moment I saw you, smirking like old times, and then I realized it was me that was sneering. I stood up to full height, looked up to the sky in thought, and exhaled, shaking my head in disbelief. "Do you believe in Karma, Greg?"

When I said your name out loud, the dog tilted its head, as if responding with a "That depends. Do you Jimmy?" I know I am relatively insane, but I swear it. I sighed, shook my head, and walked away with my hand on the back of my neck. I kept walking like that, hesitantly, as if walking away from a cake halfway decorated. Turning, I saw the dog limping to my side, and stopping when I faced him completely.

I couldn't stand to imagine this dog, even though we had just barely met, starving out here. Or freezing to death. Those baby blue eyes stared into mine until they had etched themselves into my soul. I turned and continued walking to my car, motioning with my hand, "Come here, boy." The dog growled at me when I called him boy, and for a minute I was reminded when you would get defensive when talking about when your dad would call you "Boy". I gulped, and called out, "Come on Greg." The dog came galloping to my side, panting in excitement.

I have to go let him out now. But I am taking him to the vet tomorrow to see if he has any microchip inside his back. 

Love you with every muddy footprint.

James


	8. Muddy Paw Prints on my Heart

Chapter Eight: Muddy Paw Prints on My Heart

I walked up to my car, my dog-shaped shadow hobbling along behind me, and I smiled brightly. It was almost as bright as the golden ring on my left hand. Unlocking my car door, the familiar shine catching my eye, also catching my breath. House wanted me to be his husband, something I thought he would never have the guts, or the heart, to commit to. But Greg was full of body parts, all of which will be never forgotten.

I opened the door and before I could unlock the passenger seat, my new friend lunged forward and bounded into the passenger seat. I felt my brown eyes widen to the size of copper coins, and my plans for laying down a towel on the seat evaporate. I had one in the trunk, because as always, when things go wrong I try to be ready. But the way the dog was panting, excuse me smiling, in the seat couldn't be more right.

I saw my leather seats imprinted with muddy paw prints, and it reminded me of when Greg would get food crumbs or grease on my car. Nothing mattered…I had baby wipes in my glove box. Sitting in the driver's seat I leaned across my seat to open up the compartment, and the dog watched my every move, as if I was something he had to figure out. I glanced at him, loosened my body language knowing that dog's feed off their surroundings, and pulled out three sanitizer wipes.

When I started to wipe up the mess, the Husky started to pant again, and I just shook my head. _He also liked seeing me clean up after him. Oh get a hold of yourself James. Listen to your thoughts. This dog is not Greg. Nowhere close. It is just a homeless dog, which happens to have similar characteristics to your lost finance. _I put the baby wipes in my pocket and started the car, the sound that normally wakes me up out of my fantasy. This time it didn't.

The radio was playing a song that normally makes me tap my fingers on my steering wheel, _Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head_, a strangely bittersweet, freeing song. Before I could start humming along with it, I haven't sung along since he died--the dog leaned forward and pushed the radio with his nose. I couldn't believe it; he just changed the radio station. The new song was _Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In,_ a bright song that always puts an embarrassed smile on my face. I had reached a stop sign, so I turned and gawked at the canine, who just grinned back.

I shook my head, pulled forward onto a main road, and just set my mouth in a firm, confused line. This is only a dog, an animal that has been a companion to man for as long as man has had speech. Dogs are intelligent, but not quite smart enough to know that a song isn't good for a person's self esteem. Or even recognize songs for that matter. One side of my mouth curled up in amusement. Still not boring.

I drove to a little pet store, where my radio DJ started to hide his face from view, as if anti-social or shy. I pulled into a parking spot, turned off my car, unclicked my seat belt, and turned to the blue-eyed beauty next to me. "Now listen here buddy. I can tell you really don't want to go in there, and that is fine. I know where everything is in the store, and I can be back in twelve minutes maximum. You can stay here. Don't worry, I won't abandon you."

"Greg" looked at me with blue eyes that couldn't be mapped by the best oceanographers, and then glanced out the window. I smiled weakly, hating leaving him behind, and got out of my car. I locked it up and gave the dog one last look before turning and going inside.

_*****Do you guys think a Husky, like the one I described, looks like House? I am not saying that they could pass for twins, but do you see the similarities? Please reply if you think so…I appreciate it.*****_

I came back outside with a cart full of first pet supplies. A blue collar without tags, leash, two bags of food, a water and a food dish, a bag of rawhide bones for him to chew up, a bed, some pet shampoo and combs, and some tick medicine.

When I unlocked my car, I saw him shoot up from his curled up position on the passenger seat and start barking as if alarmed. I opened the back seat and placed most of the items on the soft, black leather. The other, bulkier items got put in the trunk. Climbing in the driver's seat, I turned to my frightened friend.

"It's okay, pal. It's okay. It's only me---Jimmy. I didn't mean to scare you. I should have unlocked in manually…I'm sorry. That is not what I meant to do. The dog snarled at me for a split second as if he didn't like me on his new territory. He soon relaxed when he saw my palms facing up and lower than his face.

"I told you I would be back and I promise to never do that to you again okay? I didn't have a leash so I couldn't take you inside. I am sorry." Greg exhaled, as if catching his breath, and looked at me relieved and wiped out. He licked my hand. Once. And then curled back up and went back to sleep. Well, there is one thing he does do that Gregory never did. Snore.


	9. Don't Get on That Part One

Chapter Nine: Don't Get on That!

As soon as I got home, I turned to the new face I had come to appreciate, and said in a low, calm voice, "Listen up buddy. I am going to take you in there. It is my apartment. No one has stayed here since Greg died. That name sounds familiar doesn't it? Well, I am going to get a filling meal in you, give you a warm bath to make sure I know what colour that fur of yours is, and give you a nice night's sleep inside.

Don't look at me like that. I am sure you miss your owner, but I---I want to take care of something. Even if it is only for one night. I will take you first thing tomorrow okay?"

The dog was sniffing behind him very quickly, and then turned to me and barked only once, as if giving me a one syllable answer. Yes. I smiled to myself, turned off the car, and climbed out of the driver's seat. I opened the back seat and grabbed the first bag of newly purchased items. I also opened the passenger car door, letting the dog out. His back right leg was not swollen or cut up and he quickly made his way up to the apartment. It surprised me that he knew which one was ours, but I guess it was a fifty-fifty chance he would get it right.

I balanced the brown paper bag on my hip, pulled out my keys, and unlocked the door. Greg the puppy sniffed at the open doorway, as if inspecting for something that was there. The smell of last night's chili wavered over to both of our nostrils, telling me something I didn't know. I was hungry too. I set the bag on the counter. "Welcome to your temporary home. I will be right back."

I walked back outside, admiring the sunset for the first time in almost five years. There was a whole spectrum of colours, starting with purple seeping down into a red sun. I thought of the roses that I left on House's grave just an hour sooner when I saw the bright red. As I stood there, probably looking like a fool staring at something that is almost the same every night, I asked to the sky. "Have you come back to me Greg?"

In answer I felt the last flickering sunbeams of warmth and I closed my eyes, as if House was kissing my cheek. I wished so desperately that the moment I opened my moistened eyes that he could be next to me with that usual smirk on his gruff, handsome face. But he wasn't. Taking a calming breath, wiping my eyes, and sighing I made the final steps to my car, where I grabbed the bed and the second and last shopping bag.

Locking my car behind me with my fingertips, I waddled awkwardly to my ajar door, where I kicked it open. "Here we go, Greg. We are not going anywhere else tonight. I am exhausted and hungry and you look like the last thing you ate was a dead rabbit." I set the large brown bag on the counter, and set the bed next to mine in the bedroom. I strutted like a wounded soldier to the door where I locked it and hung the keys on the coat rack. The dog was waiting patiently by the chair opposite my own. Greg's chair.

I still had a table setting there with House's wineglass next to it. My heart ached a hallow pain whenever I imagine him sitting there, or anyone else for that matter. I washed the dishes by hand, but then I put them back right where they were the night I found them. He had also written on the table next to where he always sat. "Hey Jimmy. Keep your chin up. Your eyes deserve to see the sunlight. –Greg 2009" I ran my hand over the permanent marker's inscription, vowing again to myself to never, EVER replace this table. I bit my lip to fight back the wail I knew was one second away from escaping.

The dog seemed to notice my change of heart; he wrapped his warm tail around my pant leg, and lowered his head on my foot. I looked down for a moment and exhaled slowly. "Let's get some food on our bellies shall we?"

Greg sat up, leveling his head as he did so, making it look like a sort of nod. I reached into the first bag and pulled out a food and water dish. I then pulled out a smallish bag of dry dog food, ripped it open and poured a hearty amount into the dish. I then went over to the sink and filled up his water dish, and added a drizzle of water to the food. I heard it helps digestion, especially when you don't know how a dog is going to take the meal itself. I set it on the floor next to House's seat.

At first the brilliant blue eyes brightened and then they dimmed as if in disbelief. I smiled warmly and squatted down. "It's for you. I am not going to take it from you. You can have all that you want. It's okay." I stood to my full height and turned around to my refrigerator wanting some of that old-fashioned chili from last night. The moment I pulled out a bowl with cellophane around it and popped it into the microwave I heard loud crunching and eager gulping of water. The sound of noisy eating put a half-smile on my face.

I put the chili in the microwave, turned back to the fridge and got myself a glass of milk. I remember the first time I made this chili for Greg. I was terrified that he wouldn't like it because it was meatless. But that night he ate three times the bowl amount as me, and ate it for lunch the next day too. That man sure had a healthy appetite, something I only enforced by cooking for him. By the time I put a spoon and napkin on the table, the cooking device beeped, and I pulled the steaming bowl out.

I set it down on the table, raised my wine glass full of milk to an imaginary man next to me. "To your eternal memory." I took a sip, and noticed out of the corner of my eye how the dog momentarily stopped eating, and drank when I did. I shook my head, just trying to focus on not spitting out my milk in laughter. I picked up my spoon and blew on the steaming stew before taking a bite. Still tasty.

An Hour Later

"Come on you stubborn beast, get in the tub!" I strained to say as a flailing dog leapt out of my arms for the umpteenth time. My sleeves were rolled up, my white shirt soaked, and pants looking like I just couldn't contain myself after a cola drinking contest. I sighed, sitting on my knees, and put my hands on my hips. The dog was sitting on the other side of the bathroom, with that panting smile once more on his face, and an adventurous twinkle in his blue eyes.

"What can I possibly do to get you in this bathtub?" I said desperately, as if my life depended on the dog getting sudsy and clean. I reached into the bag of dog supplies, now a brown, pulpy mess because of all the water damage and found the rubber ducky. I squeezed it once above the lukewarm water, and I saw the dog twitch and stiffen. I squeezed it again and the dog made a quick galumphing start, and dove into the water, his sharp teeth latching onto the duck. Without a second to prepare, there was a tidal wave of water and dog shampoo that came raining down on everything.

I slowly unpeeled my face from my elbow shield, eyes opening one by one, scared to survey the damage. The towels I had laid up for after the bath looked as if they were dipped in the bath itself. The mirror above the sink looked like it was a windshield of car on a rainy day. My shirt would definitely win best wet t-shirt contest, not that I have entered in those or anything. The inside of the tub contained about half the amount of water as before and a happy dog with the toy of his choice in his mouth. I couldn't complain…at least he was in the tub.

I took this time to unbutton and shed my soaking shirt. I was feeling kind of stupid for not doing that in the first place, I laid it down on the floor next to the towels. I grabbed the sponge that was on the floor next to the tub and squirted some pet shampoo onto it. I made sure to buy the hypoallergenic kind to just be safe in case my furry friend was allergic to anything. I started by scratching behind his ears with my free hand. He seemed to like that a lot. After his eyes closed, I switched hands, and he didn't mind at all. As if he liked feeling pampered and special.

"That isn't so hard is it, huh?" I cooed, feeling like a mother giving her troublesome toddler their first memorable bath. I scrubbed gently and thoroughly all the way down his back and his limbs, carefully avoiding the bad one. I didn't want any dog bites, no sir. After I was finished, he did the typical and predictable shake of the back, and hopped out. "Thanks. I needed to clean the bathroom anyway. Thanks for the help."

Many Towels and Quiet Grumblings Later

I felt exhausted. I did more drying than I thought was possible in one sitting, and I still had to get ready for bed. At least it was the easiest part of my day. I crawled into bed wearing new, dry boxers and a warm tank top. The dog limped into the room behind me, still slightly damp, but not wooden floor damaging wet. He surveyed the room by sniffing every corner and crevice, and then found his bed. He looked up at me, and down at his bed, and up at me again.

"No. Don't do that. Those guilt trip eyes won't make me cave. No one has slept on this bed besides me since Greg died, and I am not going to give that up. Even for you. I'm sorry, but that is where I stand. Or lay rather. Stop. Don't whine at me. Have I cried around you yet? No. I don't think so. Good night." With that final thought I turned off the light and curled up under the covers. Not five minutes later I felt something bounce onto my bed and curl up on his side. "Welcome home Greg." I mumbled and fell asleep.


	10. In Your Dreams

Chapter Ten: In Your Dreams

I was wearing a white tuxedo with a yellow rose boutonniere and I am getting my hair brushed by my mother. She was saying something under her breath in a heavy New York accent, but when she looked up at me and locked matching brown eyes with me, she smiled brightly. "You look so dashing, dear. Don't worry. I am happy for you." She placed the Yamaka on my head with the smile flickering slightly.

I looked down at my shiny black shoes, suppressing a laugh with my smooth lips, feeling the familiar butterflies in my stomach. No, they weren't butterflies this time, they were doves, fluttering to and fro, and making me feel a little queasy. "Oh, Mom. Relax. This time I know that I have found the right person."

"That's what you said with Julie. And look where that took you." She looked up at me after straightening my golden yellow tie, her eyes glowing with those maternal tears that always formed on these occasions. I hate those tears.

"It took me directly where I needed to be. If she hadn't cheated on me, I don't know where I would be right now." I said looking in the mirror next to me, admiring the way I looked in my tuxedo, and smiling at my mother's yellow sundress. She always looked so young to the average eye, people guessed her age to be in the late thirties. They were always wrong.

"You would be living in a hotel nursing a bottle of gin and tonic, and we both know that. Now go out there and make your momma proud. You hear me?" She glared into my eyes as if her life, and reputation for that matter, was on a very shaky line. I nodded, hooked her arm, and pushed open the double doors that led to the outside.

It was an absolutely beautiful day. The sun was streaming down upon the two of us, the warm beams kissing the back of our necks, making me feel even more excited. The sky was as deep of a blue as the ocean on a smooth day, no clouds in sight, and two birds flew overhead as we stepped out. A small gathering of people were gathered in the white picnic chairs. Doctors from the hospital, some of my family, the cleaning lady all stood to their feet, all giving smiles as their wedding gift.

I walked down the aisle with my mother at my side, her yellow dress complimented with a straw hat with a yellow ribbon. I glanced dead ahead and saw my bridesmaids, er, husbandmaids? Dr. Cuddy, Dr. Cameron, and Dr. Hadley were all standing at the flower covered archway. Each one was wearing a yellow dress with white collars and shoes. They were all beaming at me, making me feel even warmer. My mom kissed me on the cheek and sat down next to my brother, who gave me a playful headshake and then a thumb's up.

I noticed Foreman and Chase were there, standing next to the archway, wearing black tuxedos with a yellow undershirt and vest. Both of them cleaned up rather nicely, and they were both watching me approach them with half smiles on their faces. I didn't mind. I was just grateful that Foreman agreed to be his Best Man. His. I suddenly caught sight of my groom and I felt the doves inside my stomach start to claw at me, making me feel nervous and oh so excited at the same time. My groom.

I don't care what anyone says, when Gregory House puts on a tuxedo the world stops spinning. He looked so incredibly handsome, that I blushed, making me feel even more like the blushing bride than I already was. Technically, we are both "husbands", but I can't help but feel as if I am wearing the women's clothing in the relationship. Hey. I cook, I clean, I love my mother, my clothes match my ties, I do laundry, do I need to admit to more survivable habits?

Greg's tuxedo was black with a golden yellow vest and tie, matched by his cane that was blackened wood with a gold cap. As promised, he didn't shave recently, but it was only light stubble, the way he knows I like it. His Yamaka matched his suit with a gold trim, making him look royal, reminding me of the saying "Every man's house is his castle", and I smiled. His eyes had such a rich, dark blue that put the sky and the ocean to shame. They were also sparkling in passion, love, and above all, devotion. I never thought I would live to see the day where those deep eyes would reflect those words with witnesses present.

I stopped, turned so I was facing House, and gave a secret celebratory smile to him. He gave me a smirk in return, the very sight of it causing me to feel as if I was going to grow a pair of wings and float away. It was either that or the doves in my stomach had multiplied and changed my very genetic make-up so I was now part bird man. Yeah, like that's going to happen.

The rabbi that was behind and between the two of us said a quick prayer, one I had gotten used to hearing, but the words seemed brand new to me. I had convinced myself that I slept through my other weddings, because my ex-wives had sucked the energy from me. Or was it that I had to chase House down to stop him from hitting on the bridesmaids or hitting his head from passing out from too much alcohol? He didn't do well at weddings, but he seemed to be doing amazing _in_ this wedding.

As the rabbi went through the vows and I became increasingly more nervous, I felt the colours fade around me until House was the only thing I saw left in full colour. As if he was the only thing that mattered in the world, and as of right now, he was. No one had seen House and me kiss before, during the rehearsal we just kissed on the cheek because we were still a little weary of wandering eyes.

"Do you Gregory House take James Wilson to be your husband for as long as you both shall live? For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, until death do you part?"

In answer, my finance growled. I blinked. Yes, I wasn't the only one who heard that right? I looked around at all the gathered people and they all nodded once as if he had said yes. I couldn't believe it. House growled again, this time louder and clearer, and the space behind him started to fade into blurry nothingness. The last thing I saw before it all went black were his eyes. Blue and piercing, slicing their way into my very heart and soul.

I sat up abruptly in bed, feeling my eyes grow moist. Not that dream again. The nauseating, wake up in the morning and not want to go to work dream that has been coming and going for about four and a half years now. It's never fair. He proposed to me, so he knows that he wants to marry me, but I never get to accept his proposal. I looked down at my hand and noticed the gold twinkle in the light coming from the half-opened shutters. It was still dark outside, with only the streetlight on, so no one would see me cry. No one would care either.

The tears racked my chest until I felt I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was going to throw up, the headache starting in my temple and spreading with a cold, raw pain throughout my forehead. I just wanted to go back in time again, and tell him to stay. But I am not Superman, nor will I ever be. Suddenly, I felt a shifting of weight, and there was a steady warm breathing near my ear, and I remembered I wasn't alone.

"Hey Greg. Fair is fair. I cried in front of you, after you cried in front of me, and we are even. Just don't rub it in my face that I am a crybaby okay? We don't need that spread around the hospital." I felt a small plastic object drop on my lap, and I recognized its sheen in the light, it was my cellular phone.

As I had done at least a thousand times before, I flipped it open, dialed our apartment's number, and let it ring until it got to voicemail. I felt my heart tighten in my chest like it was wrapped in cellophane when I heard the following message:

"Hey! It's Greg and James. Two full-grown, unmarried doctors living together. You know what that means don't you? That's right! We are still paying off our collage loans. Ha-ha! Please leave a message after the quick piano song. Ta!"

I haven't heard his voice in any of my dreams since he died, and I just didn't have the heart to delete this voicemail greeting. It was all I had left of him. He didn't ever tell me where his tape recorder diaries were kept, and it is likely I will never find them. I pressed one, replaying the message again, eyes closing in anguish. I listened to it two more times before laying back down on my back, continuing to press one again and again.

I felt the dog curl up next to me, with his head on my chest, and my heavily beating heart. I listened to the message until my cell phone battery died, or I fell asleep. As of right now I don't remember which one.


	11. Don't Get on That Part Two

A/N: I apologize for the shortness for the first "Chapter Eleven" my laptop battery was dying and I couldn't write more even though I wanted to. Thanks for your patience, I haven't been able to update because my grades are dropping and all my energy has been focused on Algebra. The thought of it makes me shiver. Needless to say, I am reposting this with some new additions. Enjoy!

Chapter Eleven: Don't Get on That Part Two and a Visit to the Vet

I woke up to the sound of the iPod stereo next to my bed and the song that was playing couldn't have been anymore ironic. _I Can Dream about You_ by: Dan Hartman pulsed into our bedroom, the cheesy music reminding me of Greg spending hours at a time shopping for old records on weekends. He was such a nut for oldies music, and I would always roll my eyes and pay for them. Now lying down in the bed, eyes closed, breathing almost nonexistent, all I could think about was how he would play requests for me on his piano. Man could that man sing and play until the sun came up.

As programmed the stereo turned off after playing its awakening song, and I heard a sudden sound coming from the living room. A sound that reminded me of ivory piano keys being touched, several at a time. I bolted upwards in bed, tore the sheets of me, and lunged out of the room. "Greg?!" I exclaimed, not sure if I was talking to the dog, the doctor, or my own imagination. What I saw will stay with me until the day I die.

Greg the Husky was sitting on the piano bench with his two front paws on the white, dusty keys. He was pushing random notes, not playing anything recognizable, and when he saw me approach him, he stopped, panting like he was having the time of his life. "Don't get on that. Off! Off with you!" I shouted, losing control of the hysteria and the volume of my voice. The dog leapt from the bench and landed on the ground, whimpering slightly when he landed on his right leg.

My breathing finally slowing down, I lowered my hand from my chest, and investigated the piano for any damage at all. There were paw prints on the bench and on the ivory, making it look clean in sections and dustier in others. On the bench there was still a written message in gold coloured permanent marker: "Hey Wild Thing---You still make my heart sing!" I heart ached to see that handwriting for the second time in one week, but I was more relieved that nothing got damaged or removed.

I turned my attention to the dog, who was standing up with his head down, tail in between his legs, and looking very submissive. "Oh Greg. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose my temper with you. It's just this is very important to me and Gregory House's memory. I didn't want you to chew on it or destroy anything that he…left me. It's okay. Come here." I allowed the dog to come to me and when he was under my feet I crouched down hand extended. "There we go. It's alright." I scratched behind his ears, his and my body language relaxing. "Let's get you to the vet okay?" I whispered, remembering that I had the day off today.

I stood up from the wooden floor and walked over to the empty dog dishes on the ground, where I swooped down to pick them up. I made my way to the sink and refilled the water dish, and set it down on the ground. The food dish stayed up on the counter. I also reached into the bag and pulled out a rawhide bone for my furry friend. He was sitting at my heels, and when he saw the chew bone in my hand I noticed his head cock to one side.

"Yes, this is for you." I chuckled at the curious expression on his face. I handed it to him and he laid down on the ground and started to go to work on the bone. I decided to take this time to take a shower and get dressed, now that Greg was occupied on something that obviously could keep him busy for at least an hour and a half.

Stepping out of the bedroom about forty-five minutes later in my gray McGill sweater and blue jeans, I noticed Greg chewing on something small and yellow. Something that squeaked every time his teeth sunk into it. I realized it was the rubber ducky from last night's water adventure, and I was just content its sound could still function. I didn't want to interrupt such his thought process, so I carefully stepped around him, made my way to the kitchen, and took out his collar and his leash from the bag.

I then strutted over to him with an approachable smile on my face, "Okay Greg. Time to go to the vet. I promise I won't let him hurt you." He stood up and started wagging his tail excitedly, the thought of him going somewhere had his heart beating a thousand miles a minute. I put his collar on his neck, loosened it to fit around his neck, and clipped on the leash. We walked out together and I locked the door behind us.

_A Bit Later at the Vet's Office_

I sat there in the waiting room chair, wondering to myself if the same chair company that made these chairs also made the hospital's clinic chairs. I cleared the random thought from my head and started to scratch behind the neurotic ears at my feet. Greg wasn't doing so well in this setting. I could tell from his behaviour in the pet store parking lot that he wasn't the most social creature in the state of New Jersey.

Two seats to our left an elderly woman was holding a gray tabby cat in a yellow blanket giving the two of us a weary stare, making Greg's head lower in shame. In three uncomfortable chairs to my right, a balding wrinkled man sat with a pug in his lap, his face showing something of sympathy and uneasiness. When Greg walked into the waiting room, he growled and barked at both the pug and the cat, making my face burn as red as the letters on my shirt. I muttered out an apology and tried to get Greg to calm down.

Before I knew it, a woman came out wearing a lab coat and holding a clipboard. "James Wilson?" she asked the small group of animals and their masters. I raised my hand, stood up, and stated "We're here." She smiled at my foster child who seemed to relax at her arrival, and led the two of us to an exam room.

"What are we in for today Dr. Wilson?" the middle-aged woman asked, patting the exam room table, inviting Greg on the wax papered surface. He hopped up without a single thought, and started wagging his tail again like the earlier incident never happened.

"Well, Dr. Karen, I went to my late finance's grave yesterday and on my way out I found him. He approached me with friendliness and I couldn't pass up those blue eyes." When I saw her smile after examining his ears, I felt the courage to continue. "So I took him home after buying some basic pet supplies. I gave him a nice meal, a bath, and a nice sheltered night's sleep."

She checked inside his mouth, nodded, and made a note on the chart. "You wanted to see if he had an owner didn't you?" Dr. Karen asked, her eyes searching my face for an honest answer. I felt my lips curl up in a small smirk and I sighed through a nod. "Well that is the responsible thing to do. I am pleased to say that he is a bit malnourished, and his back leg has some nerve damage, but overall he is okay," the animal medical expert said.

I grinned brightly and felt my world brighten as well. "Can you scan him for the microchip navigation device? I just want to make sure I am not taking him from anyone." Dr. Karen turned around, grabbed the scanner on the wall, and faced the two of us again. She removed the collar from his neck and pressed a button on the scanner. A phone number appeared on the green pixilated screen. " It looks like your new friend has an owner." And just like that, my heart sank.


	12. Heartbreaking but Good News

Chapter Twelve: Heartbreaking but Good News

I felt my whole world sink into a dark, wet hole. I saw everything that I had built from the ground up tumble, crumble, and collapse into a heap of dust and tears. I wanted so desperately to have something to take care of, besides patients obviously, something I could come home to. Something that reminded me of what I lost. Now I felt the pain in my heart consume my entire body. "E-e-excuse me for a moment," managed to escape my lips as I walked out the door.

Fortunately for me, the rest room door was right next to the exam room where I was. I walked inside, not feeling my legs that carried me. I locked the wooden door behind me and turned on the fan. By then, the hot, stinging tears had already started forming in my eyes._ You should have known better Jimmy. _My thoughts told me, in a voice sounding raw and edgy. _A dog that beautiful has a loving, devoted owner that misses him very much. A family of owners. A set of parents and kids. Like what you could have had if you had stopped Greg from going out in that ice storm five years ago. _

I bit my lip until I felt it was going to bleed and add more warm, wetness to my face. I still blamed myself for the accident, even though Dr. Cheryl said I had no control of House's impulsiveness. I had no control over the weather. No control of his motorcycle as he crashed. No control of anything. Not even of the fact that Greg the Husky had an owner to go home to.

Releasing a shaky, heavy sigh and wiping my eyes on my sleeve, I began to calculate how I must compose myself. I couldn't just walk into the exam room with red, puffy eyes and blame it on autumn allergies. No. Not even a blind person could fall for that one. I turned on the faucet and let the cold, numbing water fall into my hands. I splashed some on my face, until my whole face turned red. At first glance, it looks like I was just extremely embarrassed to find out the news. Yeah. Something like that.

I walked back out, feeling a little bit better, and braved a smile for the waiting room guests. Walking back inside the room, I was greeted by a happy, tail-wagging Greg. He looked so happy to see me, as if I had disappeared for twenty years at least. I crouched down and scratched behind his ears, those icy eyes closing in pleasure. Once I stood up, he stood by my side with a serious expression on his face. Whether you believe it or not, I believe that dogs can reflect human emotion. Yeah, too many cartoons as a kid have warped my mind.

"So what is the verdict Dr. Karen?" I asked, feeling that my strength was leaving the room with every passing second. I felt a weight on my foot, and looking down, I saw Greg put his paw on my tennis shoe, as if holding my hand. Yes, I know, keep dreaming. Gregory House is no longer alive. Get it straight.

"Well, you can call the owner if you want. If you feel you are unable, I can make the call. Either way, it is best we let Mr. and Mrs. Huber know that their dog is safe and sound." Dr. Karen told me in a calm, reassuring voice. She removed her glasses, making her caramel coloured eyes stand out. She also straightened her honey coloured ponytail, and offered me a small smile. I took it. I also took the phone that she held out for me and dialed the number that was on the notecard on the counter.

I took a long breath as the phone rang. It rang once and then an older female voice answered. "Hello? This is Barb Huber." I felt my body start to shake, but my voice stayed steady as I said. "Hello Mrs. Huber. My name is Dr. James Wilson. I was at the cemetery last night and I found your dog. He is okay, just a little malnourished with some nerve damage on his leg, but otherwise he seems very happy. I brought him to the vet today and we located you with the chip you implanted in his back. We are at the Animal and the Master's Clinic in Princeton. I will wait for you to come pick him up."

There was silence on the other end, and I thought for a moment that she was in shock or denial. I waited patiently, something that took years of practice, and many self help talks. "Mrs. Huber?" I questioned about two minutes later. The husky lifted his head from my foot, and tilted it in confusion, as if asking the same thing nonverbally.

Suddenly I heard her voice again, and it sounded small and weak. "Please, Dr. Wilson. Find a place in your heart to take care of him. My husband, Jack, was very abusive to our dog. His name is George. Jack would hit him constantly, calling him all sorts of unmentionable names, and telling him that no one would ever love him. He would pour cold water all over him and leave him outside for long periods of time. No one found out because George hardly went anywhere. I know that he will have a better home with you."

When I heard this elderly woman speak, I was hit with the nauseating realization that George the Husky was more similar to Gregory House than I thought. They were both abused without mercy by their "fathers" and both had very frail mothers that just wanted what was best for them. I felt something like a cold, smooth stone drop in my stomach, and asked when I found my voice again. "When and how did he go missing?"

Barb seemed to sigh deeply as if reminiscing for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice gained volume slightly. "He ran away about in December of last year during a terribly frightening ice storm. I thought I would never see him again. I am grateful to know he is okay though. Thank you Dr. Wilson."

It felt as if sunshine was radiating from the phone, I couldn't believe my luck, or the coincidence of everything that had happened in the last day and a half. Feeling excited now I asked another question, "Does he have any special medical problems I should know about? Is there anything I shouldn't do with him?"

Barb laughed, a light beautiful sound, and it sounded like it had been held back for a long period of time. "Just don't call him "Boy" and make sure he listens to some rock music everyday. Whenever Jack would go to work I would play some Beatles music for him on the piano. He seemed to like that a lot."

"Thank you so very much Mrs. Huber. If you ever need anything or you want to visit George I would completely understand it. My number is---" I got cut off my Barb who said, "Don't you worry about a thing Dr. Wilson. He is in good hands I trust you."


End file.
